


Voicemail

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam leaves his phone at the bunker whilst shopping, Dean senses a great opportunity to go through his little brother's things. Things stop being hilarious when Dean listens to Sam's voicemail, a saved message from 2008 with words his voice never said and a message he never wanted Sammy to hear. So he fixes it, because that's what big brothers do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for angst. I just have a lot of emotions about the voicemail thing.

Forgetfulness in the life of a Hunter was a dangerous thing, which is why it sucked to be Dean Winchester. 

He was constantly leaving things in places, and he couldn’t even begin to tell you the amount of his possessions that were currently residing in Motel rooms all around America. 

Thankfully, Sam was not forgetful. To the point of insanity. John once joked that all memory abilities had been passed on to Sam, leaving Dean with – 

Well, with a missing shirt from his pack and a confirmation from the hand searching his pockets that the measly fifty he won from hustling pool – yeah, that had been left on the pool table. 

That’s why Dean was understandably surprised when he tried to call his little brother from the bunker - to tell him to grab a manlier smelling soap while he was at the shops because _shit, Sammy_ Dean Winchester does not need to smell like lavender - and the echo of Sam’s ringtone sounded from the general vicinity of the lounge area. 

Sam didn’t leave his phone anywhere all that often, and it was an opportunity Dean grasped immediately. 

Laughing to himself and muttering under his breath, he finally located Sam’s beaten up nokia and opened up his settings, changing his ringtone to something suitably embarrassing before opening Sam’s messages. 

He looked despairingly at the empty inbox – evidently Sam cleaned up as he went along. No dirty messages to girls, no filthy pictures, no awkward subscriptions, _nothing._

His phone was showing a missed call, though, from Dean’s number. Saved simply as _‘Dean’,_ with a little blinking message reminding him to check his voicemail. 

Dean decided to save him the effort, opening Sam’s voicemail himself and listening as the robotic feminine voice instructed him that he had one new message, one saved message. 

One was from one minute ago, and consisted of Dean’s voice saying _‘what th- Oh Sammy. Oh Sam, oh Sam, oh Sam.’_ which was incidentally exactly what he had said as he was skipping towards Sam’s phone exactly one minute ago. 

He was about to click the hang up button and concede defeat to Sam’s anal phone keeping when the saved message started playing, and Dean’s voice filled the air once again.  
 _  
“Listen here, you bloodsucking freak, Dad always said I’d either have to save you or kill you. Well, I’m giving you fair warning. I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster Sam – a vampire. You’re not you anymore. And there’s no going back.”_

Dean gaped, dropping the phone as if it had burned him. He swallowed heavily and picked up the phone again, pressing replay. 

“Sam,” he whispered, hearing his tone of voice, the insults rolling through the tiny speaker. He pressed play again, noting down the date it was received, forcing himself to hear one more round of _bloodsucking freak_ and _you’re a monster Sam_ before deleting the message with firm presses of his fingers. 

Sam had been holding onto this for five years, God knew how many times he had listened to it.

It was from 2008 – year Lucifer busted out of the cage. Because of Sam. 

Dean could remember bursting through that door at St. Mary’s and seeing him – the confusion, the fear on his face. Dean had thought it was fear of Lucifer but… Did Sam seriously think that Dean was going to _kill him?_

He dimly considered the fact that this message may have played a part in breaking the final seal – the thing that finally pushed Sam over the edge and into Ruby’s arms. 

He felt sick. 

Dean pocketed Sam’s phone and walked towards Sam’s room, breathing in the girly-lavender and gun-oil smell of him, looking at his neatly made bed and the row of pictures on his nightstand. 

Jess and him, Dad and him, Mum and Dean, and then him and Dean. 

_You’re a monster, Sam._

Dean felt the sudden urge to punch something. 

Instead he took some steadying breaths and picked up his phone, calling Sam’s number, listening to his new embarrassing ringtone until it rang out and the familiar _It’s Sam, leave a message_ came through.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke on that first word. “Listen here, little brother. Dad once told me to look after you no matter what. Well, here’s a fair warning. I’m never gonna leave you again. You’re stuck with me. I love you, Sam, and there’s no going back on that. Ever.” 

He switched hands to pick up Sam’s phone, listened to the message and saved it before walking back to the lounge, leaving the cell phone where Sam had left it and then going back to the kitchen. 

By the time Sam got home from the shops Dean had already consumed half a bottle of whiskey. 

“Dean?” Sam said unsurely, and that voice was full of trust and _fuck,_ Dean buried his face in his hands and shook his head. He didn’t know how he had fucked up, but somehow this was his fault. Not Sam’s. Dean was supposed to look after Sam. 

Sam apparently took his silence as a dismissal, because when Dean looked up, Sam was gone. 

That wasn’t right. 

Sam wasn’t supposed to just _go._

Dean stumbled upright and made his way to Sam’s room, taking him longer than usual due to his unsteady steps, stopping short of the door when Sam burst through it. 

He had been crying. 

Sam’s face was streaked and there were new tears in his eyes, suddenly not visible when Sam’s face was buried in his neck, arms tight around his waist and body pressed against his. 

Dean numbly raised his arms, securing them around Sam’s broad shoulders and letting his face fall against Sam’s neck.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, and Sam made a choked sounding noise and squeezed tighter, new wetness against Dean’s skin making him realize that Sam was still crying. 

“How many times did you listen to it, Sam? Wasn’t even me. I could never hurt you, Sammy, never.” Dean was speaking in a rambling tone, his words tripping over each other as he clung to his little brother. 

They stayed like that for countless minutes, breathing against each other, sealing the cracks and bandaging the wounds. 

And five weeks later, when Sam’s phone was dropped in what can only be described as ‘vampire goo’, Dean hadn’t even remembered the voicemail – that was, until Sam burst into his room with a new blackberry, voice application open, holding it to his face and ordering ‘say it.’ 

“I love you, Sammy.” Dean replied earnestly, and Sam nodded, not making eye contact, leaving the room. 

Sometimes at night Dean could swear he heard his own voice echoing through the walls, _I love you, Sammy_ lulling his little brother to sleep. 

Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
